


Of Gold, Mythril, and Blood

by Neuroticcuriosity



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Post-Battle of Five Armies, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Emotionally Constipated Bilbo Baggins, Emotionally Constipated Thorin, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Throw the canon out with the bath water
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-26 23:59:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6261088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neuroticcuriosity/pseuds/Neuroticcuriosity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year after the Battle of Five Armies and the reconstruction of Erebor is well on it's way, thanks to the leadership of it's King. However, as things start to slow down, Thorin is left with the crippling reality of his mind and the loneliness as he pushes away all those around him. Meanwhile, Bilbo deals with the continued psychological aftermath of the battle while trying to give his friend the space he wants. When he finds that Thorin has been hurting himself, he tries to help the dwarf while helping himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, to start off with I *swear* this story will not be as bad as the summary makes it seem... I hope. My goal is to end up with fluff and a happy, healthy relationship, but let's see how that goes. No beta reader for now, but that may change. :D
> 
> Feel free to leave Kudos, comments, or send me a message on my Tumblr of the same name!

The feel of cool mythril beneath clenched, calloused fingers was the first thing to slide past the smog of red that clouded his mind. Soft, frantic fingers grasped at his gauntlets; a familiar sound humming just below the thrum of the gold pulling at his senses.

 

“Thorin-!” What was that sound?! He could feel the grimace pull at his features as he tried to remember, scrambling after the loose thread of memory that remained just out of his grasp. “Thorin, please!” He could hear the shuffle of metal now beside him; armour moving. That’s right- they were about to go to war. But then- what is in his hands?

 

“Thorin Oakenshield if you no longer require the services of my burglar, I ask that you return him unharmed!” The pure voice of the wizard cleared what was left of the smoke in his head. Suddenly, all he could see were terrified hazel eyes staring at him from over the battlements.

 

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

 

Thorin bolted up from his bed, cool sweat gleaming down his skin. Another nightmare; another horrid reminder of the madness that had consumed him just a year ago. He threw the furs from his legs, rubbing his face in his hands a few times slowly before getting out of bed. Looking over at the embers in the hearth, he estimated it to be a few hours before dawn. This was not the earliest his nightmares had woken him, but the frequent late nights and early mornings had put him ahead of his slowly dwindling workload. Erebor had made quite a transformation in just a short twelve months, and now the easier, more bureaucratic tasks were starting to be taken on by Balin and his nephews in an effort to get their leader to take some much needed rest- much to his dismay. No matter how the king attempted to regain some of his previous workload, he was refused at every end, and the situation had gotten even worse when his beloved sister had arrived.

 

What Dís did not know was that he preferred the overwhelming workload to the numbing silence that filled its absence. It had been centuries since he had been able to feel this despair; tasked with leading your people and reclaiming your home does not allow for the quiet. But now, it had returned with a vengeance, making up for lost time and using every sliver of self-loathing; every memory of the time that Thorin II Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, was no more than a madman obsessed with the call of the gold and the Arkenstone.

 

During these times he had first started carving runes into the wood of his table, needing to remember them: Honour, Duty, Sacrifice, Friendship- and then Hope… Love. Over and over he carved the wood of the table until there was hardly a bare surface on it. The wood started to feel numbing, giving him no warmth beneath his fingers. He started to try to chisel into the stone of his chamber wall, but it felt even colder. One night, in desperation, he carved the first word into his thigh, aching to feel any semblance of warmth. As the droplets of blood ran down his leg, he had sobbed, relieved he could still feel something but the numbness and the loathing that had encompassed his thoughts for so long.

 

This night, the dwarven king felt a trembling fear as the pain from “Sacrifice” did not hurt as the others had. He dug his dagger a little deeper, desperate to catch the full feeling that was sitting just out of reach on the edge of his frayed mind. Tears welled at the edge of his eyes- deeper- _deeper_!

 

A soft knock on the door yanked him from his thoughts. He frantically tied a cloth around the new wound to stem the bleeding, pulling trousers up over his small clothes before hiding the dagger in a nearby cupboard. He straightened out the cloth on his tabled, calling to whomever was behind the door, “Come in!”

 

He turned to the door, assuming to see a guard or his sister's-sons. Mahal, maybe even his sister. Instead, he was met with a very familiar pair of hazel eyes and the dwarf was now very aware of the cold air against his bare chest. _Why didn’t I throw on a shirt?_ Instinctively, Thorin took a step forward, but stopped himself upon the realization that those eyes were red and puffy. “Bilbo? What’s wrong?” He willed his voice steady and his body still, the dream still raw in his mind. It may have been a year since it had occurred, but Thorin had refused to allow himself to accept Bilbo’s easy forgiveness, avoiding the Hobbit with work as much as possible. Bilbo hadn’t seemed to notice, being busy reviving the library with Orí himself. There were moments, of course, rare moments that Thorin would allow himself the pleasure of having Bilbo for tea or inviting him to talk about some official affair late into the night, but the loathing that followed kept any feelings in check- any hope in line.

 

The hobbit wrung his hands quietly for a few moments before speaking, a pink tint spreading across the freckled expanse of his cheeks. “I just-” the Hobbit started, looking up before momentarily directing his gaze back to this ground. “I couldn’t sleep. Nightmare, you know.” He tried to force a grin and it made the dwarrow’s stomach drop. “I saw your light on and assumed you were up as well- might was some company.”

 

A smile pulled at Thorin’s lips as he responded, unable to help but feel a small flow of warmth radiate from his chest. “Of course, Master Baggins.” He motioned towards the couch that sat before the hearth before going over himself and starting to light a new fire. The hobbit made his way over to the couch, sitting to one side with his hands in his lap. Before long the blaze was set and Thorin sat himself on the other side of the seat, laying an arm along the back and enjoying the heat momentarily before turning back to the burglar. “So- would you like to talk about it?” Large hazel eyes flicked up to him, causing his heart to skip a beat until they shot over to the fire.

 

“It’s-” he swallowed, reaching up to worry at a piece of his own golden hair. “It’s the battle. I always dream of you- dying in my arms. Óin said that it could be some lingering form of battle weariness- but-” Bilbo chewed at his bottom lip as though trying to buy time between words. “I don’t know. It’s just- particularly upsetting.” For a few moments, the hobbit’s eyes looked back up at the dwarf, fear clouding them and Thorin’s self-restraint faltered, allowing his calloused hand to rest on Bilbo’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. Bilbo smiled sadly, one of his hands almost immediately moving up to rest on top, his small fingers squeezing the dwarf’s larger ones. They sat like that for a while, talking about the impending winter and the progress Erebor was making. Before either of them knew it, they had both fallen back asleep and Thorin hadn’t recognized the warmth growing in his stomach the entire time.


	2. Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It really seems like a few people know a bit more about Thorin's situation than they are letting on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone whom has bookmarked and left kudos so far! And a special thank you to DreamingNightmares, dragonbilbo, and White_Rabbits_Clock for their comments! In addition to offers of proofreading from DreamingNightmares and dragonbilbo as well! I've actually managed to rope my fiancée into proofreading which means quicker and easier turn around and a lot more accountability for posting chapters... hopefully. It's looking like I'll be aiming to post a new chapter every 2-3 days.
> 
> Once again, feel free to leave any comments! I love to hear what you think or if you have any ideas on what's going to happen next! :D
> 
> An additional Note previously forgotten: Goatweed is another name for St John's Wort.

Bilbo woke the next morning nuzzled into a strange warm pillow that smelled oddly of woodsmoke, leather, and spices. He nuzzled his cheek deeper against it, refusing to open his eyes and be woken just yet. For a few moments he hummed contentedly, however, his eyes shot open as the smell started to gain an additional coppery note- blood. His brain raced as his eyes started to focus in the low light, trying to identify all the other smells quickly. A moment of panic washed over him as he realized the other smells belonged to Thorin II Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain. But as his pupils adjusted to this light he calmed, seeing that the King Under the Mountain was, in fact, fine and very much asleep. It took a few moments, but his memory quickly returned.

 

He had had a nightmare and Thorin had chatted with him well into the night. They must have fallen asleep. His eyes slowly traced the lines of the dwarf’s sleeping face, his body screaming to reach out and touch a bearded cheek, but his mind talked him out of it every time, hissing cruel whispers in his ear.  _ He’s already made it clear since the battle; we are no more than friends.  _ The hobbit sighed quietly, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his pointer and thumb for a few moments before stopping and looking back down at Thorin’s lap.  _ Why did I smell blood?  _ A close glance showed a blood spot soaking through the top of his dark blue trousers. Bilbo gasped, immediately shaking Thorin's shoulder firmly to wake him up, concern bubbling deep in his stomach. The dwarf was quick to stir, immediately clutching the back of the couch in shock before settling, rubbing his eyes with the back of one, large hand. “Bilbo? What’s wrong?”

 

“You’re bleeding! Your thigh-”

 

A look of embarrassment crossed Thorin’s face as he held up his other hand to silence the hobbit. “I’m alright. It was just an accident with my dagger, nothing to worry about. I must not have treated it as well as I thought. I’ll go to Óin later today.” His smile satiated Bilbo’s worry for now and the hobbit nodded, his hand twitching as it tried to go up to cup the dwarf’s cheek, but Bilbo refrained from it again, determined not to overstay his welcome. He politely declined the offer of breakfast and made his way towards the door, determined to escape before any more embarrassment had befallen him. Just as his fingers clutched the handle of the door the king’s voice broke through his thoughts, “Bilbo- you’re always welcome here.”

 

The hobbit smiled back at the dwarf and gave him a quick, “Thank you” before leaving, his heart fluttering the whole way down the corridor.

 

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

 

The library of Erebor was massive and, thanks to it’s lack of much gold, was left almost entirely untouched by the fury of Smaug the terrible. Walls upon walls of gigantic shelves housed tens of thousands of books. Unfortunately, nearly all of the texts were entirely in Khuzdul, only a few hundred of the oldest being in Sindarin and even fewer in common. After the main clearing out of the centralized areas had been completed and new residents started pouring in, eager to help, Ori and Bilbo had taken the monumental task of translating every book.

 

Ori had started on the dwarven texts, writing up the transcripts that Bilbo would then bind during his translation breaks. Despite many months of getting used to living underground, the hobbit would still get headaches from reading in the dim light for too long and would need frequent breaks from his own translation of the Sindarin and common texts. But the system suited them both well enough most days, the enormous room silent save for the scratching of quills against parchment.

 

Óin had made a habit of stopping in the library every afternoon between patients with a tea to help Bilbo’s head, and that day was no different. The kindly dwarf greeted Ori before making his way over to the hobbit, sitting down at the other side of the table and setting the tea down. “Good afternoon, Bilbo. Getting a lot done?” The gentlehobbit looked up, rubbing the bridge of his nose as a small grin crept across his face.

 

“It would be a lot easier if there was more light.”

 

A laugh escaped the healer’s lips as he offered Bilbo the cup. “One of the downfalls of living in a mountain I suppose.”

 

Bilbo returned the laugh with a smile, taking the cup gratefully. He hummed a sigh of relief as he sipped, relaxing into his chair. “I suppose you’re right.” They sat for a few moments, enjoying their tea before a thought occurred to the hobbit. “Speaking of the mountain, how was Thorin when he came to see you today?”

 

“Bilbo, I do believe I’d have to chase our king through half of Erebor to see him in the medical sense,” Óin chuckled to himself for a few moments before a look of concern overwhelmed his features. “Why? What’s wrong?”

 

“He was just bleeding a bit this morning when we woke up. It’s probably nothing.” Bilbo could feel the embarrassment flushing his cheeks as Óin gave him a knowing look, the dwarf going so far as to give him a small wink before returning his attention to his tea.

 

After a few minutes of relatively comfortable silence, Óin looked up. “I have a few more dwarves to stop into tonight. Would you mind bringing this down to Thorin?” A small satchel of herbs and some cloth bandages were then pushed towards the hobbit, not waiting for an answer before he stood, gave a small bow, and left. Bilbo picked the satchel up, moving the fabric and herbs between his fingers curiously before bringing them to his nose. Goatweed? Now that was very peculiar. Had Óin given him the wrong satchel? He paid little mind to it, deciding to ask the older dwarrow about it tomorrow. Thorin would have to do with only bandages that night. 

 

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

 

Bilbo stood before Thorin’s door that night, frozen in a mixture of fear and contemplation. What if he had misunderstood Thorin, or the dwarf had merely meant to be polite? Bilbo didn’t want to impose on his  _ friend _ , that would truly be the last nail in the Baggins name! He looked down at his fingers, currently clutching the satchel and bandages, only to realize they were trembling.  _ Oh bother. _ An unsteady sigh escaped his lips before he turned, leaning back against the nearby wall. Why had this become so difficult? Everything had been so much easier before they had reached Erebor- before Bilbo had betrayed that trust that had been so very hard won. Thorin may have said he had forgiven the hobbit, most times refusing that an apology even needed to be said, but Bilbo had noticed how the dwarf had avoided him for the past year. The feeling tore at his heart, but he couldn’t blame him.

 

“Master Hobbit! Fancy seeing you here.” Dis’ warm voice brought Bilbo from his thoughts quickly, her lips already pulled up in an affectionate smile.

 

“Lady Dis! Apologies for any intrusion-”

 

Bilbo’s sentence was easily interrupted by a laugh. “Nonsense, Bilbo. You know I enjoy your company. Though- I would wager it is not my company you seek tonight.” The dwarrowdam’s brown eyes sparkled as she waved her hand, inviting him to follow her back to her own room. The hobbit easily settled into his usual seat as she closed the door behind them before taking the chair beside him.

 

In the six or so months since the princess’ arrival, Bilbo and the dwarrowdam had become quite fond of one another. He often would visit her when his trembling feet took him to Thorin’s door, enjoying their mutual love of books, tea, and- quite honestly- politics. Though it was obvious to all who knew him that he despised the stuff, Thorin made a perfect figurehead and was quite good at making the majour decisions. However, when it came to the minor machinations and bureaucracy, this was where Dis thrived and Bilbo was enthralled by the delicate workings of the mountain, sometimes talking with Dis for hours about a single treaty or committee.

 

However, it was quite obvious tonight’s discussion would not be of such topics.

 

“Now Bilbo, why had you been looking at the door as though it were an orc?”

 

The former burglar looked up at the dwarf, fighting to contain the blush that was struggling to invade his cheeks. “Well- Thorin had told me this morning I was welcome back any time and I just wanted to drop off these bandages from Óin, but I couldn’t quite figure out the propriety of just barging in or if I should knock or if he had just been being polite-”

 

The onslaught of quick words was stopped by a raised hand and a soothing smile. “Peace, Bilbo. We both know my brother would say nothing for the sake of courtesy.” She paused to let him laugh before reaching over and squeezing his hand. “And what would our Óin be sending you with that is so urgent he couldn’t bring it himself?”

 

“Oh, just some bandages. Thorin confessed to have had a minor mishap with a blade last night, but he must have missed him throughout the day. Óin must have been running ragged today; he even gave me the wrong herbs!”

 

“Oh? How so?”

 

“Not for me, mind. My tea was helpful as usual. But he gave me Goatweed for Thorin and I am quite sure I mentioned a blade, not a burn-” the hobbit’s words trailed off as he noticed the sudden worry creep onto Dis’ strong features. “Lady Dis?”

 

“Perhaps-” She cleared her throat, straightening herself in her chair. “Perhaps we should trust Óin’s judgement. Goatsweed has many uses, after all. Doesn’t it, Master Hobbit?” She stood, making her way over to a jewelry box on the opposite wall. She ruffled through it for a few moments before humming and returning, placing an intricate silver bead in Bilbo’s hand. “Before I forget, here’s the bead you had requested. I forged it myself, so I can assure you of the quality. Though, I will say- it was quite an adventure to get time down there alone!” She chuckled for a moment before her face grew serious again. “Talk to him, Bilbo, give him the bead. And Mahal’s mercy please give him that herb as a  _ tea _ .” With that he was shooed out.

 

Back in front of the dreaded door and Bilbo felt no lighter. In fact, he felt worse. But he gathered together his bravery and knocked softly on the metal door, ears listening intently for movement. After a moment he heard a crash, and he bolted into the room, manners and propriety be damned.

 

The scene before him froze his feet to the ground, forcing the hobbit to take a few moments to comprehend. Thorin stood next to his table, the chair he had most likely been sitting on upturned in his haste. A dagger lay on the engraved table, fresh blood dripping from the point, and a clay pot lay shattered on the floor- most likely the cause of the crash. Bilbo opened his mouth before closing it again, his eyes now flashing between the blood running down Thorin’s thigh and his forearm.

 

“Bilbo… I can explain-” Icy blue eyes were wide with panic-  _ regret _ . Bilbo could feel his shoulders shaking; his feet quickly  padding towards the dwarf as the edges of his vision started to cloud. 

 

“Bilbo-” 

 

Everything was dropped silently as the hobbit threw his arms around the king’s waist, unable to control the sob that escaped his lips. His fingers clutched at Thorin's bare back, nuzzling his face furiously into dark chest hair. While the dwarf seemed to be struggling to understand what was happening, flashes of deep crimson and raven hair on white snow forced their way into Bilbo’s mind, pulling at the barely patched threads.

 

“Please no- not again-”

 

After a few second of quiet sobbing, Bilbo felt warm arms pull him closer, a few fingers carding soothingly through his hair. “I’m sorry, Bilbo. I’m so, so sorry.” The way his deep voice cracked shoved a spike through Bilbo’s chest, but he felt helpless to his own mind, fighting against the memories that plagued him. He nuzzled into Thorin’s chest once more, allowing the familiar scent to calm him before pulling back to look up at the dwarrow’s face. Tears were still streaming from his now puffy eyes, which only now were starting to flutter back open. As he went to open his mouth, Bilbo shook his head, quieting him.

 

“We have a lot to talk about, but first I need to clean things up.” Thorin nodded quietly, releasing the hobbit from his arms reluctantly. Bilbo stepped backwards, squeezing the dwarf’s shoulder reassuringly before moving over to the pile of bandages. He picked them up, moving over to grab the dagger next but paused as the room started to spin. “Maybe- Maybe I’ll wait a moment to grab that.” Taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, Bilbo shooed the dwarf towards the bed, grabbing the wash basin before sitting gently beside him. “Give me your arm.”

  
For once, there was no sass; no backtalk. Crystal blue eyes looked anywhere but at the hobbit. Bilbo clenched his teeth as he looked down at the wound, flighting his mind’s urge to escape. He grabbed the handkerchief out of his pocket, dipping it in the basin before gently cleaning the wound. The bleeding had mostly stopped by that point, leaving what Bilbo believe to be the Khuzdul runes for ‘hope’ carved in the pale skin of Thorin’s forearm. Bilbo couldn’t help but stare, completely confounded. He traced the lines of the runes with his fingers before bringing them up to his lips, unable to restrain the urge. This grabbed Thorin’s attention, the dwarf watching in amazement as Bilbo wrapped his arm and then did the same for each rune on his thigh, the hobbit’s lips pausing for a moment each time before hitting skin as though waiting for a refusal.  As soft lips grazed across copper-tinged flesh, Bilbo realized he was lost.


	3. Realizations of the Wrong Sort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin makes some important realizations about Bilbo's mental state, but misinterprets the hobbit's feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the late chapter, not to mention it being a short one! Weekends are looking to perhaps delay chapters by a bit!
> 
> Also, so sorry about the tease and twist there. I did tag this as slow-burn though! :D
> 
> As always feel free to leave comments, kudos, or what-have-you! And thank you again for the comments from dragonbilbo, jgs22, and White_Rabbits_Clock!

Thorin was lost. Lost in the cascade of feeling that was flooding through him with each press of the hobbit’s lips-  _ his _ hobbit’s lips. His body felt frozen, terrified that any slight movement might stop the touch; might scare away the only contact he had had in so long. He knew that this could not last forever, of course; knew that Bilbo wasn’t his. This was probably some great, big, confusing misunderstanding. Yet still, the hope that was blossoming in his chest refused to be smothered. All the emotions that the king did not even believe he could still feel were now throwing him like a boat in a storm. He yearned to feel Bilbo’s skin against his, imagining what the soft warmth would feel like beneath his own rough skin. He remembered the warmth of the hobbit’s small body against his as they embraced, the burglar almost clawing at him as though if he let go he would lost him. What had he done to deserve this? What in Mahal’s name had he done to deserve such tender touch or that desperate, nearly longing, look in the hobbit’s eyes? Because he would do it again, even if this was the only reward.

 

He re-averted his attention back to Bilbo as the hobbit stood, suppressing a disappointed whine. Almost as soon as his bare-feet touched the ground, Thorin could see Bilbo’s hands shaking. Fingers pulled viciously at one another as he stared at the ground, teeth worrying at his lower lip. The king stared at the hobbit patiently, waiting for a sign before he remembered the words quietly rambled the night before:  _ battle-weary _ . Within moments he was at his dresser, digging through it to find the smallest articles he could. 

 

It all made sense now. Bilbo had confessed to still suffering from nightmares from the war and now they both stood here, covered in Thorin’s blood. Once again, his selfishness was hurting the one person he cared the most for. He bit back his tears, grabbing the tunic and trousers he had been searching for. He then tossed them to the hobbit that was now staring at him in wide-eyed confusion.

 

“You should change, Master Baggins.” Thorin refrained the urge to bite his lip as his voice quivered, determined not to bring more attention to it. Surely this was not what Bilbo had come here for tonight. Still, Thorin avoided eye contact as he went into the washroom, closing the door to give the hobbit privacy. He couldn’t let him see the longing; couldn’t impose on him. Sitting on the edge of his tub, he took a moment to breathe, sorting through his thoughts. He could feel again; more than guilt. More than self-loathing. It still hurt, and he could still feel a numbing at the edges of his mind… but it was a start.

 

After a few more minutes, Thorin returned to the bedroom to find Bilbo sitting on his bed patiently, absolutely swimming in the larger clothes. The king wanted nothing more than to wrap the hobbit in his arms and crawl into bed with him, ridged as Bilbo stood from the bed, making his way over to the dwarf.

 

“Ah, Thorin-”

 

“I think it’s time for you to leave, Master Baggins.” His jaw felt tight as he said the words, holding back his meaning.  _ Leave now before I can’t allow you to go. _ He kept his eyes on the ground tracing each line of the stone to hold his ground.

  
“I- um- yes. I suppose it is then, isn’t it?” His eyes didn’t look up until he heard the door click shut behind the hobbit. He knew this was for the best ; knew that Bilbo has no idea of the feelings he incited in the king, but still- why was this so hard? He let out a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his fingers before sitting down on the edge of the bed. For a few moments, his resolve solidified, the justifications running through his mind finally breaking through. As he started to clean up, throwing the dagger into the bottom of his dresser, he caught a glimpse of silver on the floor next to the satchel of herbs from Bilbo and his heart dropped.


	4. Presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is mortified after his perceived rejection by the king. However, over the next week, he finds it difficult to mope as his friends start to give him gifts that remind him of home. He really hopes it's over until he receives the best gift yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back on track! This chapter should be back to normal and here's to hoping the future chapters will be too! Thank you again to everyone whom left Kudos and a special thanks to OhDeerDearie and Anchanee for their comments! As usual, feel free to leave a comment, message me on here or my Tumblr of the same name!
> 
> Translation notes:  
> Amralizu: I love you  
> Azralizu: I want you  
> Amrâlimê: my love  
> Khuzd allâkhul: stupid dwarf
> 
> (Trust Bilbo to remember that phrase well enough.)

Bilbo did not want to think of anything. He did not want to think about how he had embarrassed himself around Thorin, or how Fíli and Kíli had given him the most pitiful looks as the Hobbit had sped past them, containing his crying to a sniffle. He did not want to think about the feelings that had caused him to forget the satchel on the ground, nor that now back safely in his room he could no longer find the courtship bead. Forget that at this point it would be foolish to present after such a blatant rejection; how would he tell Lady Dis all of her efforts had been for naught? There had to be some sort of majour, dwarven taboo he had broken by losing the intricate bead. He rested his face in his hands as he sat in his chair, letting the tears flow freer now.

 

How could he lost that bead? It had been only hours, but already it had held that last bit of hope that the hobbit had allowed himself. Bilbo knew he didn’t fit in in Erebor. His language lessons with Dis were slow-going and he still didn’t understand most dwarven customs. Not to mention that even after a year, it was obvious his eyes would never adjust to the lighting. There were some days he volunteered to take the long trek to Laketown for supplies just to feel the dirt between his toes. But it had all seemed worth it when he thought of eventually gathering up the courage to confess… but now- it was not enough.

 

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

 

The cool night air blew through the ramparts, ruffling golden curls and clothes still not much suited to the weather of the mountain and valley as Bilbo stood at the wall, looking out over the quiet expanse below. It had been a week since that night, and the hobbit had spent much of his free time hiding on the ramparts or just outside the city walls, Dwalin being almost overly-respectful of the former burglar’s movements. It unnerved Bilbo a bit, how mindful his normally rowdy and crass friends had been the past few days.

 

Bombur had made Bilbo some of his favourite minced pies four days past and Ori had gotten him a new reading lanturn, much brighter than normal dwarven lights, not three days ago. Two days ago Dori and Nori had surprised the hobbit with a new waistcoat, deep blue in colour, and yesterday Balin had stopped by his room with some flowers, the last of the fall season, though Bilbo hadn’t a clue where the elder dwarf had come across them. Still, Dwalin’s mindful gaze today as Bilbo sat on the edge of the great wall was making the hobbit’s skin crawl. It was as though the massive dwarf was waiting for something- or someone.

 

He brushed his feet against the wall, the stone feeling cold beneath his heels. Running through the drills Dis had given him, he mentally cursed how difficult the harsh sounds were to remember. Sindarin had never given him as much difficulty as Khuzdul. What was the point now anyway? It was foolish to learn the language when he had been so thoroughly rejected by the one he had been learning it for. Still, the drills had come to soothe him. And so he sat, alone on the wall under Dwalin’s watchful gaze, fumbling between words he could barely remember.

 

“Amralizu- Amralizu- or is it azralizu?” The hobbit let out a sigh of frustration, letting his heels thump against the stone once more. He crossed his arms in annoyance, huddling against the cold.  _ And why did two very different, but so very similar, statements have to be so nearly identical? _

 

“Master Baggins, I do hope you know better than to say words which you do not mean, Khuzdul or not.” The familiar voice was soft, though the hobbit didn’t need to turn around to see the small smile on the face of the slowly approaching king.

 

“Your majesty-” Despite an obvious flinch at the formal words, Thorin held up a hand to silence the hobbit, continuing to move ever closer.

 

“Peace, Bilbo. A week ago you said we needed to talk and I am inclined to agree with you, if you’ll forgive my stubbornness the past few days.” He waited patiently for Bilbo to turn around, his back now facing the open air, the dwarf's face now covered in a toothy grin with what could be confused with hope in his eyes. Still, Bilbo feared mirroring that hope more than anything. The hobbit had slept little the past week, nightmares destroying what little grasp he had on his own patience and mental state.

 

The former burglar nodded his head stiffly, signaling for the king to start speaking. Thorin seemed to pause a moment before stepping even closer, pulling the fur mantle from his shoulders and placing it gently around Bilbo’s, his face pausing mere centimetres from the hobbit’s when he spoke. “Dwalin though you might be cold.” A blush invaded the hobbit’s cheeks as he felt the dwarrow’s warm breath tickling his lips. He was so focused on controlling his breathing, he barely felt the dwarf take his hand, slipping two small, cold objects into Bilbo’s palm. The hobbit could now feel the blush spreading to the points of his leaf-shaped ears as those lips grew ever-closer. “But this- this is from me. Amralizu, Bilbo Baggins.” With that, warm lips were pressed against his own, surprisingly soft and gently. Despite the initial shock that froze the hobbit in place, Bilbo was quick to lean into the touch as Thorin brought a calloused hand up to cup a freckled cheek. After a few moments, they separated for air, the dwarf resting his forehead against Bilbo’s.

 

“I- rather-” The hobbit’s words scrambled as he tried to say something-  _ anything _ to clarify what was occurring. “Thorin-”

 

“Check your hand, Amrâlimê.” Bilbo tried to ignore how the low breathiness of the dwarf’s voice made his head spin and dragged himself away from the king just far enough to look at the two small beads Thorin had left in the hobbit’s palm. The small courtship bead sat shimmering next to a new, foreign looking bead. Also silver in colour, the second bead had more of a dwarven feel yet, somehow, it also appeared to have a hobbit-like flare. Strong, geometric lines made up the image of small, delicate flowers and tiny emeralds filled in fragile leaf shapes. Bilbo’s eyes grew wide, looking back up to meet gorgeous blue that seemed so filled with emotion, they were about to burst. “I apologize for being so foolish, Bilbo. I had no idea- I could never have imagined you would-” He seemed to struggle with the words even now. “Please, Bilbo… I know I don’t deserve this, but-” The king seemed to brace himself as Bilbo continued to look at him in disbelief. “Would you accept this bead, as a proposal of courtship? I’ve known for a long time that you were to be my One I just- I hope you can feel the same way…”

 

Expectant eyes bore into the hobbit, immediately begging for an answer, any answer. Bilbo almost bristled at the idea that he could say anything but yes, amazement still blazing in the back of his mind as he looked back down at the beads. “Khuzd allâkhul. Of course.” Thorin let out a sigh of relief as a warm smile tugged at his lips.

 

“Good- no…  _ amazing _ .” The dwarf then brushed his lips gently against Bilbo’s forehead, his nose, and each closed eyelid before pulling him into a chaste kiss.

 

As the king pulled back once more, Bilbo nearly fell forwards onto the ramparts, his head heavy with emotion. A deep chuckle shook the dwarrow as he helped the hobbit off the wall, maintaining his grasp on Bilbo’s small hand even after his feet had touched the ground, albeit to no complaints. He pulled the hobbit’s tiny frame closer to him, putting an arm around the burglar as though to keep him safe and warm as they walked. Bilbo hummed, barely noticing Dwalin’s lack of presence by the wall as they passed by his normal station.

 

His thoughts raged as one step fell before the other, not even paying attention to where they were going. Why had Thorin taken so long? Were the gifts from others just a ploy? Why had he given back his own bead; did he not want it? The last thought caused him to pause, his free fingers worrying at the hem of his vest. Perhaps he wanted something more dwarven? Of course! It made sense! While Dis had said it was traditional for a dwarrow to design a bead of their own style to represent their One, dwarves had very similar tastes and Bilbo was a hobbit.

 

A very peculiar hobbit… with very peculiar habits… and a very peculiar taste in a mate.

 

“Bilbo-?”

 

“Do you like it?” He looked up at the dwarf desperately, his turn for doubts. The questioning look was once against replaced with one filled with absolute devotion.

 

“I love it, Amrâlimê. Dis told me she jumped through quite a few hoops to make this. It definitely reminds me of you.”

 

“You spoke to Lady Dis?” Confusion rushed through him, freezing the hobbit to place until an almost bashful look snuck onto the king’s features.

  
“There was a bit of confusion- involving the bead. I’d rather discuss it later; in my room perhaps?” The hobbit felt his earlier blush return with a vengence up to the tips of his ears as Thorin gave him a knowing, half-lidded look before continuing. “But first, I should really show you what the company has been up to.” And with a loving smile, he continued to lead the hobbit down the hall.


End file.
